Forces of Nature
by GiorgiaKerr
Summary: Some things just are. -BB fluff.
1. Chapter 1

**Spoilers:** Je pense que non. But discounting that _The_ _Mummy_-inspired-my-career thing.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own Newton of his un-rememberable Laws. Interestingly enough, you Americans seem to word them very differently to the Australians. And here I was thinking that physics was an exact science. Head, meet desk.

**Author's Note:** Okay, science exam in like, two days, and I just thought of the best revision technique. Of. All. Time. I always forget Newton's Laws, for some unbeknownst reason (after nuclear physics, they're the easiest topic we've done this year in science), but not anymore. Three Laws. Three chapters. See a theme developing? *Grin*

Sorry for the total lack of updates in the past few months, too, by the way. Been totally swamped with school work and actual, money-paying work. Forgive me?

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_Newton's First Law: A body will not accelerate unless there is an unbalanced force acting upon it._

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She had known what she had wanted to do from the first time she'd learned the definition of the word _anthropology_. She had been twelve, sitting happily in an empty science lab while the school flittered around her, encyclopaedia spread out on the bench in front of her. She remembered that the green speckled linoleum of the bench had made it hard to focus her eyes as she flicked through the pages.

Her teacher had given the book to her in the lesson before. "It's food for thought, Tempe", was all she had said.

She had never made it past "A".

After that, she had known. She'd been smart and determined enough to achieve every one of her goals before university without a single hitch; her parents' disappearance and Russ's abandonment only making her more determined to reach her goal. Because if she reached it, then she was truly worth something; she would have an achievement and a future to cling to, to present to others. Something she hadn't really had in years.

Meeting Michael had been even less of a hurdle to overcome. Brennan was a competitive person, and meeting someone else within her own intellectual – and sexual – league was, really, quite a novel experience for her. She'd never really known anyone who not only shared her interests, but did so with purpose and ability.

She'd looked up to Michael, though at the time she would never have admitted it – too proud, and thinking herself far too advanced to worship a professor.

From there, she'd aced everything in her field. From ancient authentications to mass graves and natural disasters, she'd become the best. She'd met people, found herself a place, a _family_, though she hadn't realised that until much later.

Anthropology became, quite literally, her life. Just as it had been since she was twelve.

But then she had met Booth.

Solid, powerful, and as stubborn as herself. Sure, he played at diplomacy and bureaucracy, but when it came to the things that really mattered, the things that he really cared about, he was immovable. And he had pushed her boundaries.

First, professionally: trying to shut her out of investigations, keep her out of interviews, control her colleagues, control _her_. And none of that had worked, but it had set her world slightly askew. He had started to present ideas and beliefs that had honestly never occurred to her.

His pushing didn't cease, though. It just moved a little. Switched from professional to personal, and really, that was ten times more powerful. As clichéd and irrational as it was, when things became personal, when Booth _made_ things personal, she could almost feel her path veering. She left her chosen field almost without question, almost without a second glance, and it had taken her almost four years to even notice.

Their trip to China was proof of it all. She had been adamant, totally positive that she was going back to her "real passion", returning to her metaphorical roots. Half-asleep next to Booth, though, it had suddenly occurred to her that she would never have been able to sleep like that during a murder investigation. Yes, the Chinese caves fascinated her on an intellectual level, intrigued her on a professional one, but they didn't truly _excite_ her.

Her passion had changed. Her passion now was for the living – for her friends, her family – and for the world that Booth had brought to her. Save a few court appearances, or witness testimonies, she had never truly been a part of the investigations into the murders she solved. But now she was at the centre of it all. She and Booth _were_ the centre and they did what no one else in the world could do. And they did it damn well.

In a sense, she had been right: her roots truly were in ancient anthropology. And she'd been cruising along in that field for some time – years. Cruising, and only occasionally veering off her chosen path to assist where no one else could, or would. Working with Booth, though, wasn't cruising, and she knew that it never would be. It was fast-paced, ever-changing, and the thing that _really_ struck her was that they were getting better at it. Every case brought something new – to their relationship, to the professional field, to her colleagues and to the victims and perpetrators that fuelled their work.

The crimes were always different; the weapons, the people, the justice system, the lab equipment; everything was evolving, and she was a part of it. She wasn't as disconnected as before, she didn't hide in the past and hypothesise about the future. She was, finally, evolving _with_ the world, in her own way. Even if Booth didn't see it, sometimes.

The thing that made her smile, though, was that while this was happening, she hadn't lost anything of herself. Anthropology still fascinated her, people still confounded her. She still treasured her job, still ate Thai food, still loved her friends. The only thing that had changed was her _willingness_ to change. Ange would tell her that she was just realising parts of herself that had always existed. Cam would call it a commendable effort. Hodgins would say that she was just pretending to be normal. Brennan supposed that, as a writer, she'd call it 'character development'.

Not Booth, though.

Booth would grin and puff out his chest. Booth would steal some of her ice-cream and point at her with his spoon. Booth would inform her unabashedly that it was all because of him. And she would scoff and disagree. She would steal some of his ice-cream and smirk when he pouted. She would let herself maintain eye contact for just too long and they would both know that neither of them was entirely correct.

Brennan had always had the potential, yes, but Booth had pushed. And, it seemed, that had been exactly what she'd needed.

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Hope you liked! Reviews are loved, etc. As are those who review.

Love to all. Except the morons who write our exams. They will get no love from this direction. Electronic or otherwise.


	2. Chapter 2

**Spoilers: **Meep.

**Disclaimer:** This chapter was harder than the last. Mostly because the Law's weirder. It originally involved lots of wine, but that all got a bit complex for my exam-frazzled brain. Hence, this chapter is shorter than the last.

**Author's Note:** I like the word "inversely".

Well, if I haven't made myself sound stupid enough, already, here goes:

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_Newton's Second Law: The acceleration of an object is proportional to the force acting on it and inversely proportional to its mass_.

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It had always amazed him just how fast she could walk when she was pissed off. Usually, she was almost skipping to keep up with his strides, but when she was angry, she seemed to take it out on the floor.

He really didn't see what had annoyed her so much this time. He knew that she was… emotionally volatile. She had been since they'd met, and probably long, long before that. It was one of the things that he liked most about her. In some ways, it was this that made their relationship: their ability to argue and argue and never truly reach a conclusion. Or never reach a unanimous conclusion.

The problem was that he never really knew what was going to set her off, and the thing that made that a problem was that as soon as she got mad, his defenses went up. As soon as he saw that telltale flicker, he knew that whatever it was, he wasn't going to agree with her. At first he done it just to screw with her, and, well, because it had turned him on. But now, they were storming through the lab, Brennan leading them to her office as Squints moved out of their way with surprising speed.

And he knew that this argument wouldn't be settled here, because the more adamant she was, the more adamant he became, and vice versa. This argument wouldn't be resolved at all, just forgotten; dropped once the case was solved. He wasn't even sure why they did it anymore, just that every time they did, it was like clash of the titans. The thing that made it so difficult was that while they were arguing over the same thing, neither really understood the other. Her arguments were intellectual, logical, carefully structured to mean something, to back her up, to bring him down. His were constructed from whatever came into his mind at the time and a generous amount of emotion.

The more weight he knew her arguments carried, the more forceful he knew he had to be.

And so they consistently ended up at a standstill. She was unmovable and so was he. They were evenly matched, if in a slightly twisted way. Sweets hadn't been wrong when he'd said that they complemented each other, even if Booth had pretended to misunderstand.

Booth knew, and he was fairly certain that Brennan knew it as well, that once this case was over, they'd have dinner, maybe drinks. And that the argument, like it always was, would be left alone. She'd stop piling on logic, he'd stop pushing, and the topic would remain exactly where it was, unsolved and unchanging and altogether unmoved.

Because that was how they worked. Both together and against one another. Without her, he'd always have his own way, and he knew, now, that that wasn't always the right way. And without him, Brennan's world would work the same way. They needed each other to function the way they did, as effectively as they did, even if what they really needed was opposition.

It was a type of symbiosis that was particular to their relationship, because no one else worked the way they did. No one else could. And that was the way he liked it.

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Sorry, I know it's short, but I'm interweaving my writing with actual, legitimate study. Or at least telling myself that I will.

Ahem.

...Review?


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